


don't know much about history

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Academy days, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, Vaginal Fingering, there's a lot of latin in this, which I don't know very well, yes I'm finally writing without weird experimenting don't all praise satan at once ;p
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: Hilda's just trying to pass third-year marks.Zelda won't really let her.She doesn't really mind.





	don't know much about history

 

 _My years at the Academy were amongst the happiest of my life_.

 

~*~

 

There is something shockingly villain about someone’s audible breath in an otherwise empty library.

The vein in Zelda’s forehead throbs in time with the thunderous huffs.

She glares over her textbook.

Hilda oblivious.

Fisted hand propping up her chin, lips mouthing every use of a frog’s anatomy.

Nostrils flaring as she sucks in oxygen.

Little fright, she is lucky they are so close to final marks.

If exams didn’t loom ever present, Hilda would be subject to a thrilling new time of harrowing.

Zelda will not do that.

 _Might_  not do that.

Today.

Exams can only be so sacred.

Certainly not as precious as Zelda’s eardrums, currently being shattered with every inhalation of Hilda’s existence.

She fidgets in her seat, the front pokes of her kitten heels digging into the carpet.

Hilda snuffles.

Foot spasms.

“Oi!”

Affronted, Hilda jerks up, eyes accusing as her shin feels the acute sting only a kick can elicit.

Breathing is blessedly quieter.

Zelda sighs.

“There are a dozen other tables you could be studying at, Hilda. So why are you at mine?”

Meant to set her scurrying, Hilda’s eyes only roll. She’s followed Zelda’s example all too well.

“This is the only one directly under the skylight. I need sun.”

Zelda appraises.

Her summer skin looks as freckly and gold-skimmed as always.

“No.”

Hilda pouts.

“Besides,” Zelda continues. “The sun shines right on your bed in the dormitories. Study there.”

“Can’t. You burned my bed last week, if you remember at all.”

Zelda does remember.

Hilda had thought it funny to regale Minnie Bage — a girl Zelda decidedly  _hates_  — about the time Zelda, in the peak of after-baptism power, accidentally set fire to the bath when she’d been startled by Hilda’s familiar.

Only Zelda, making water burn.

And naughty sister’s beds. Apparently.

She smirks.

“So you tempt the beast by spending time in close proximity?”

Hilda’s brow quirks.

“Did you just call yourself a beast?”

Zelda’s teeth click as she mimics a chomp.

Roses on Hilda’s apple cheeks.

Zelda in a good mood, always a distraction.

Always an awakening.

She goes back to studying. Papers held up to hide her face.

A sigh. Zelda imagines setting those papers up in flames.

Master Pickerin would be very cross if she did that, he loves these books more than any of the students or teachers combined.

The thought still tempts.

And oh dear, now she’s bored.

Memorizing incantations suddenly less appealing than pestering her quiet and blushing sister.

Stealthily, she moves her foot again, closer to the heinous clogs Hilda’s determined to bring back in fashion.

Nudges.

Hilda jumps, instantly shying back.

Eyes wary over her notebook.

Zelda smiles winningly.

Eyes back down to printed study guide.

Her charms wasted on this numpty.

Undeterred, she tries again.

“Noctu, noctu pallium in umbra... Hm?”

Gaze doesn’t wander off the page.

“A hiding spell.”

“Lucerna vigila vestigia mea. Sit mihi iter verum.”

“For safe travels.”

“Ego sum iens iunctura femorum tuorum lingentur.”

“Zelda!”

Rose turned tomato.

Hilda blushing in earnest.

Zelda grins, leans over her book of spells.

Hilda leans in too.

She notes the way Hilda’s gaze keeps darting to her mouth.

Licks the corner.

Relishes the way Hilda gulps.

When their breath starts commingling, she leans whiplash back.

“I thought you were supposed to be studying?”

Hilda’s growl almost makes up for the fact neither of them gets any productive work done.

 

~*~

 

She’s not homesick, but she is sick of being Academy stuck.

She’d had a particularly spirited argument with Edward. Philosophies clashing a little too heatedly in the open mess hall. People staring. Not in admiration.

Her insides itching with something like the need for comfort, if she ever felt such a thing.

Which she didn’t.

Doesn’t.

Ever.

She storms into Hilda’s dormitories, ignores the younger years as they scatter in her wake, flops herself down on Hilda’s newly reinstated bed.

Head squarely —  _almost_  gracefully — plops onto Hilda’s lap.

“Hell’s bells!”

Hilda peers down at the sudden weight on her legs, flinching as the notebooks on her bed slide off to the hard floor and hit with a clatter.

“Hello.”

“Edward is being a self-righteous boor.”

“When is he not?”

Her question satisfies.

Zelda wriggles a little, settling more comfortably on top of soft sheets.

She looks up. Not beseechingly.

She doesn’t beseech anyone.

“Do my eyebrows.”

“Beg pardon?”

She huffs.

Hilda being willfully obtuse.

As if they haven’t done this before.

She plucks a pair of mini tweezers from inside the V of her dress.

Hilda’s eyes turn skyward.

“Must you carry everything in there?”

“This dress doesn’t have pockets.”

“And  _this_  is why you need a cardigan. They have those.”

“I’d rather wear nothing at all.”

“Saucy.”

She pushes the tweezers into Hilda’s hand.

Sharp points right into the palm.

Grins as Hilda yelps.

The sound soothes.

“Come now. Obey me.”

“You always know how to ask so nicely.”

Still, Hilda leans down, the sound of metal snicking together as she plucks the rogue hairs growing out of uniform.

“You know, this would go much quicker, more painless, if you used a spell.”

“Don’t be a ninny. There’s no spell for eyebrow care.”

Of course, there was a spell for fixing appearances.

But Zelda never uses it for brow maintenance.

Rather die than admit it, but she quite likes this bond of sisterly grooming.

She sighs from the solidity of Hilda’s thigh under her skull, her soft paunch brushing the side of Zelda’s temple as she bends.

This comforting touch allowed, softness reserved only for moments like these.

She knows Hilda secretly likes it too.

Hilda’s very bad at hiding her hums of contentment, they ricochet from her throat to her belly, vibrate out through Zelda’s strawberry strands of hair splayed across her legs.

It’s very much like an embrace from a cat, all purring and lushness and just so good for snuggling when there’s extra to hold.

Zelda barely notices the sting of follicles leaving her face.

She just looks up, watches the way her sister’s forehead wrinkles in concentration, counts the nonexistent stars on the ceiling.

“Tell me a story.”

She scowls, because it’s habit whenever Hilda asks for things.

Receives an extra sharp tug on a particularly thick hair.

“Well now I won’t.”

Long fingers card through her locks, all slow pulling, never tugging tangles.

An oasis of caring.

Finger oil in the hair, sweet balm on the soul.

If they were a little more alone, she’d probably mewl.

“Pretty please? You’re so good at them.”

She won’t deny the thrill that zips down her spine.

The tweezers start to pick again.

Gently.

She clears her throat.

“It was a long night trailing into longer. The moon was full, silver dime hanging in the sky, and the air shivered of danger...”

When the story is done and her brows impeccable, she turns her head.

Kisses tall on Hilda’s thigh, near the hip but so much naughtier.

Hilda’s gasp like lightning streaks along her backbone.

“Ego sum iens iunctura femorum tuorum lingentur.”

She is unceremoniously shoved off the bed.

Her kneecap and elbow burning, her mouth an O of surprise.

Hilda looks both delighted and horrified.

She sits up, eyes just above bed level. Hair bedraggled and full, she is distinctly mussed.

Hilda giggles, highly alarmed.

Perfect brows furrow.

“I’m going to get you for this.”

She does nothing for weeks, because it’s delicious to watch Hilda squirm.

 

~*~

 

She’s up on the parapets of the school, wind tickling goosebumps, laughing at the youthful bold.

Zelda is all nimble gait, staring down from her heights.

Everything on the ground ant-small, displaying just how high up, how thin the roof’s edge truly is.

She stands an inch from flying, status only changed to falling if she hits the ground.

A hand goes around her ankle.

If she had been a proper teenage witch, she would have screamed.

Instead, she rolls her eyes.

“You’re a ninny.”

“Oh,  _I_  am? You’re the one a second away from death.”

Zelda turns, back now facing the presumed danger.

Grins down at her sister, teeth gleaming vicious in moonlight.

It’d be sweet Hilda cares so much, if it wasn’t so annoying.

“I won’t die.”

Hilda skeptical.

“Besides, if I do, there’s always the Cain pit.”

Baby sister’s eyes so serious.

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Fit of tenderness escapes her.

She bends over to press a red and sticky print to Hilda’s forehead.

It glistens like blood on her moon-washed skin.

“I’m not going to die.”

“That’s what people always think right before they do.”

Zelda supposes Hilda does know that moment better than most.

But she really, really wants to do this.

And besides —

“Do you not trust the Dark Lord’s ability to protect?”

Blue eyes go obsidian with something fervent.

“I won’t bet on anything. Not when it comes to you.”

What is she supposed to do with that?

She huffs, because something very much like affection is going to leak out of her eyes.

No. The wind is simply picking up.

“You can’t stop me.”

She is determined.

“But I’ll ask you to anyway.”

Hilda also determined.

Battle of wills, sparking and angry and ever so foolish.

Good show, but they both know who will win.

“Watch me.”

Leaning back, she falls off the edge.

The hand on her ankle clenches tighter. Whiter than her own skin from the force of it.

She hears the crack, doesn’t feel it as a fearful realization strikes harder.

Hilda is falling too.

The stupid worried precious idiot!

Zelda curls up as they hurtle downwards, grabs Hilda by the waist, pulls her close and holds her tight.

The wind whips at them both, gowns flapping as ground grows closer.

She doesn’t question her abilities, but her heart goes rabbit.

Success matters more with a side passenger attached.

Hilda clings, her mind probing Zelda’s to whisper-think:

 _I’m sorry, sister. Goodbye_.

Zelda wishes she’d quit the melodramatics, she needs to concentrate on this bit.

A foot from the ground, she pinches up her hand.

Their bodies halt, hover for a breath, then they’re nose first in the grass.

Exhilaration.

She did it.

She  _did_  it!

Her ankle vaguely throbs.

Hilda pops up, spits out the vegetation she nearly swallowed.

“Since  _when_  can you levitate and  _why_  did you not think to tell me?!”

She winces, feeling the shrill harping all the way from her ears to the quickly-turning-purple foot.

She juts her chin out, stubborn and annoyed because  _really_  — can’t Hilda let her enjoy anything?

“When did  _you_  learn mental probing?”

Hilda splutters.

“Just now. When we were plummeting to our deaths, might I add!”

Zelda raises a hand, waves it around for extra measure.

“Do we look dead?”

“The jury’s still out on that.”

Hilda pats her hands along her person. Hands pressing the white cotton taut against skin.

Outlines curving softly.

Zelda bats her away when she reaches for her.

“We’re alive.” Hilda states with an affirmative nod. “You wouldn’t be this ornery if you were dead.”

If Zelda keeps rolling her eyes like this, she’s going to wind up more frozen caricature than Vinegar Tom.

“Glad we’ve got that settled. Now let’s go to bed.”

“That was my _first_  idea.” Hilda’s grumbling as they stand, brushing off the grass with sullen swipes.

Zelda stands, tries to put weight on her ankle.

A stupider idea than diving off a building.

She hisses as white-hot bolts in the bone. The adrenaline of still living quickly wearing off.

Pain swallows her up.

Less than a second, and Hilda’s upon her like a vulture, cooing and soothing as if she isn’t a very competent witch who saved them both from a messy end.

Still, it’s a relief to lean most of her weight on Hilda’s sloping shoulders, feel Hilda’s fluttering fingers on her hip.

The world’s going a little fuzzy.

“You broke my ankle.”

She mumbles, pouting and accusatory as Hilda accidentally jostles her on the steps.

“You nearly broke my heart, so we’re even.”

Drunk on the pulsing that courses from her ankle and throughout her entire body, she nuzzles her nose against Hilda’s warm and sweat-sticked neck.

She smells like grass and wind and the threat of imminent death.

Zelda breathes deeper.

Determines to remember the scent forever.

“M’sorry. But I’m never gonna leave you, you know.”

Hilda just sighs.

“If you scare me like that again, I’ll be the one gone, you hear me?”

Zelda clings tighter. Eyes shutting out the very thought.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Hilda’s voice soft as they pad through the halls.

She sighs.

She has to stay in the unholy infirmary for two whole days.

Hilda stays by her side the entire time, reads plays aloud to stave off infection and boredom.

When they both return to classes, Zelda’s got the entirety of  _Alcestis_  memorized.

Euripides a menace of romantic gestures, she’s got something realer.

She’s got a Hilda.

 

~*~

 

They’re in the library again.

Less empty this time.

Zelda quells her disappointment.

At least Hilda’s breathing is masked by the frantic students, cramming a month’s worth of studying for their final exams in one day.

The chatter grates on her nerves. She almost prefers Hilda’s snuffling. Almost.

When someone coughs for the fourth time — and he didn’t even cover his mouth, the absolute  _animal_  — she pushes out of her chair, makes a grabby motion at Hilda’s wrist.

“We’re going to study in the stacks.”

Hilda looks about, curls swinging. Sees the gaggle of noisy and mentally burnt out peers.

Doesn’t see the problem.

“Why?”

“Don’t argue with me.”

Hilda sighs, taking her sweet time as she shuffles her notes in a semi-orderly fashion.

Zelda taps the toe of her shoe on the carpeted floor.

Wonders if another foot spasm would kick Hilda into a faster gear.

Hilda stands, Zelda’s limbs sing a  _finally_  — Hilda doesn’t take a step.

She could screech at her sister’s mulishness.

Hilda bends over, shoves things into her bag.

Mental screaming halts.

The skirt of Hilda’s dress rises with her motion, the back of her legs red from the seat.

A certain Latin phrase bursts bright and teasing in her brain.

 _Ego sum iens iunctura femorum tuorum lingentur_.

 _I’m going to lick your thighs_.

Studying can go to brimstone, she’s going to make good on that promise.

Tugging on Hilda a little harsher than intended, she pulls them deep into the archives of the library where only the professors tread, or the occasional randy pair of students. Or group of them.

Thoughts of orgies pushed from her mind, she stops when she deems it safe enough.

Kisses Hilda full on the mouth, hands tangling in those still swinging curls. She pulls when she hears a proper moan.

“I thought —” Hilda so breathy and lip luscious and yum. “I thought we were coming here to study.”

Really, Hilda’s already got a hand down the front of Zelda’s dress, and she’s complaining the lack of book reading?

Zelda shakes her head, presses her lips more insistent, licks the roof of Hilda’s open mouth.

Hilda’s groan a surrender.

“Fine.”

She mutters from the corner of her mouth, licks her lips, drags the wet flesh against the line of Hilda’s jaw.

Hilda’s moan resonates.

“Say the ingredients for truth telling then, if you’re so keen on practice.”

Hilda’s hand slips under her bra, thumbs the hard pebble her tit makes.

They both gasp as her back is slammed against the shelves. Books scatter. Push inwards.

They do not care as much as they should.

“The powdered beak of an eagle.”

Fingers dig deep on her hip bones. Zelda bites the lines of her collarbones.

“Dried leaves from the bancha.”

Her dress hiked up, cold hands on her waistband.

Zelda’s mirth against her throat at her squeak.

She racks her brain for what she’d just been reading.

Is thoroughly distracted as Zelda elegantly drops to her knees, like oil dripping, like hunger rearing.

“Black chrysanthemums... and... and — oh  _fuck_  — “

Zelda’s tongue is hot, a line of magma nearly at the apex, almost where she really wants that mouth most.

Zelda pauses, eyes teasing as she pokes her head out from under skirts.

“You’re going to fail your exams.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Zelda’s only response is to pull her knickers down to her knees.

Hilda shivers as chilly air hits her dripping.

The stacks are really no place for fornicating. It’s cold and damp.

Zelda’s breath on her folds warm, the tingles spread throughout.

But that’s the extent of it.

“Is that all you’re going to do? Just breathe?”

Hilda whiny, Zelda smirks.

“Now you know what I put up with.”

Zelda can practically feel Hilda’s pout.

“You know I can’t help it, it’s a medical condition, and I’d very much appreciate it if you —  _eep_!”

Zelda’s mouth on her cunt, suckling so very creatively. She laps at Hilda’s folds, tongue curling every time she hits her clit.

“That deserves an A.”

Zelda hums against her. Lips clench around nothing.

She grinds her hips down harder, sister’s nose gets smushed a little against her thatch.

Back of the knee smacked in retaliation.

She just buckles further.

“Zelds. I need more.”

Begging never sounded so petulant.

“I’m working on it.”

She’s about to ask what that could possibly mean when her head tosses back onto the Summoning Tomes.

They’re going to have one hell of a time reshelving things.

Can’t think of that now.

Because currently there are slick fingers in her snatch, several degrees warmer than the hand around her left thigh.

“How...” Can’t form the question fully.

Zelda punctuates each word with a thrust.

“Sat... On... It.”

Hilda shudders tight.

Her hips roll, Zelda kissing her inner thigh as those fingers curl deeper.

She slants, Zelda’s wrist turned up in a way that’s definitely going to be sore later, palm grinding against her clit.

Once more, no again, yes again, again.

Again.

The lights flicker when she comes.

Zelda leans fully against her leg, still lazily thrusting up as she twitches.

When her stupor fades, she grins down at her impish sister.

Zelda looks satisfied, yet hungry for more.

“Worth failing alchemy?”

The way Zelda’s watching her, she better have only one answer.

She still pretends to ponder it.

Zelda tries to pinch, but Satan bless it, her fingers are too slippery.

Hilda crumples down next to her, dress billowing over her knees.

They almost look like sisters being studious.

She kisses her, tastes her own essence on that brooding mouth.

“Of course it is. Always will be.”

 

~*~

 

“Ego sum iens iunctura femorum tuorum lingentur.”

“That’s  _my_  line.”

“Do you want to sit on my face or not?”

 

~*~

 

They’re in the kitchen now, centuries later.

Zelda absentmindedly stirring the soup as Hilda washes the cutting board.

Sabrina’s gone back to the Academy for the rest of the day, her excitement about some lesson or schoolyard gossip running through both sisters’ heads.

Zelda drops her ladle, leaving dinner to fend for itself.

Sidles her way to Hilda’s right, nudges her shoe against Hilda’s clogs.

Hilda never gave those up.

A pity. They are still so heinous.

Their hips brush up against, close together and dangerous.

“Not everything was terrible at school, was it Hilda?”

She does not expect any answer, not anymore.

Hilda lets the cutting board slip back into the suds, turns to look at her sister.

Those eyebrows still plucked perfect, that mouth still so red, still so prone to licking when allowed.

They haven’t changed that much. Not really.

She smiles.

Somewhere, a librarian decides to retire.

“Not everything. In fact, I learned my favorite subject there. I’m still eager to learn more.”

They leave dinner on the stove and dishes in the sink.

Use the study for oral practice. Latin involved.

They pass with flying colors.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are good grades. give momma some A's.


End file.
